


Voices

by aravenwood



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Incredible Hulk (2008)
Genre: Angst, Bruce Banner Has Issues, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Bruce Feels, Gen, Hurt Bruce Banner, Hurt/Comfort, Mind Control, Panic Attacks, Poor Bruce Banner, Self-Esteem Issues, Tony Is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-18 17:54:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16123712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aravenwood/pseuds/aravenwood
Summary: Bruce is used to intrusive thoughts. He's used to hearing all about how useless he is, how weak and pathetic. But soon those thoughts are replaced by nicer ones which just want to help - and why shouldn't he listen to them? And why should he care when he can't do anything but listen to them?TW for intrusive thoughts, just to be safe.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in response to one of the prompts over on the Monthly Whump Challenge, which was to choose a trope and receive a prompt in return. My prompt was:
> 
> "TAT: slow acting mind control, with the victim not noticing at first, and when it finally occurs to them that they should probably warn someone they find the ability to talk about what's happening was one of the first things to go!"
> 
> This is also the first multi chapter fic I've written in about...eight years? Maybe more? I've got everything written and edited already, so updates should be quick. I might just post all of it over the weekend, I haven't decided for sure yet.
> 
> But yeah, enjoy!

Bruce was more than used to the voice in his head. It was there every day from the moment he woke up to the moment he went to sleep, calling abusive comments or demanding that he allow the Other Guy to take over - "they don't need you, they need him," it would scream at him on the worst days. When he was younger, it terrified him. He used to have days where all he could do was curl up on the nearest cushioned surface and rock back and forth with his hands over his ears, sobbing and begging for the voice to leave him alone. With age and the practice of various relaxation techniques, managing it became easier little by little until he was able to function 9 times out of 10.

But the new voice was different. Instead of calling him pathetic and stupid and a waste of space, it was almost kind in its words. It spoke softly, sympathetically, reminding him when it was time to eat or sleep, and it was so convincing that before long he was doing what he was told without question. He came to call the voice a friend, keeping him safe from his obsessions and tendency to forget to take care of himself. It was nice to have something in his head that wanted to protect him.

Today the voice was just as soft, but the words were not. "What are you doing?" it asked him as he squinted at some calculations Tony had asked him to double-check. He'd agreed without question - a part of him was honoured that Tony would trust him with something so important, that he was smart enough and reliable enough that the gesture was almost thoughtless. He never minded it. In fact, it was almost relaxing to take a break from one of his many projects to join Tony in one of his.

"Why?" the voice called. "He's smart, he doesn't need you to do this. Your own work is more important."

He frowned. Tony was probably more intelligent than him, able to pick up complex ideas overnight and discuss them with the ease of someone who'd studied it for years. He'd come up with hundreds of blueprints and prototypes before Bruce was on the scene. He didn't need someone to check his numbers. He was almost never wrong.

"You're right," Bruce muttered and changed the page on his screen to one of his own projects. It was all hypothetical at the moment but was quickly taking over as his highest priority. He couldn't stop thinking about it and he didn't want to.

The voice murmured its appreciation and he couldn't help but smile. It was exciting to have a voice that was proud of him instead of criticising everything he did and he wanted to do whatever he could to keep it that way.

"Yes!" Tony was out of his stool with his arms raised in victory. He wore a huge grin and his eyes were bright as they met Bruce's. "I did it, Brucie, I figured it out!"

Bruce grinned right along with him. "That's great! So you can start on the prototype then?" he asked as he sat back from his own desk and adjusted his glasses, then rubbed at his aching eyes. Neither of them had moved for several hours, not even for coffee, and he was really feeling the effects.

"Yep. But not today. Today we celebrate with the best," Tony said. He ducked under his desk and emerged a few moments later with a large bottle of Dr Pepper - Bruce's favourite and Tony's drink of choice around the other man. Even after several months as friends and colleagues, Bruce's heart still swelled at the gesture.

He pushed himself to his feet, but before he could move any further the voice called to him. "You really don't have time to stop, do you?"

The grin fell from his face. It was right, of course. "Right," he whispered.

"You have to finish those notes today so you can start on the practical stuff tomorrow. You know that, don't you?"

Bruce sighed. "I do."

"Bruce?" Tony called, waggling the bottle at him. He now had a pair of champagne flutes in his other hand. Bruce didn't know where they'd come from.

"I..." Bruce started, then stopped as guilt burrowed down in his gut. "I'm really busy, Tony. I'm sorry."

The world felt like it was moving in slow motion as Bruce watched the grin fade from Tony's face and the light go out in his eyes. For a split second, there was only hurt before the other man was able to regain his composure, and then he was smiling all over again. "Sure thing, bud. Maybe later?"

Bruce nodded slowly. "Maybe. I'm really sorry," he said again, even as the voice told him that he had nothing to be sorry for because Tony was like him so he would know that sometimes work had to come first. For a moment he agreed with it, then caught himself and frowned. No, that wasn't right. Whenever he had a breakthrough, Tony celebrated with him even if he was in the middle of something. It was only right that he do the same thing.

Except as he opened his mouth to tell Tony that of course he would celebrate with him, that he was proud of him for working so hard to figure out what was wrong with his blueprints and correct the problem, his throat closed and he found himself unable to speak. He lifted a hand to rub at his neck, half-expecting to find a hand there. There was none. Then why couldn't he speak?

Oblivious to the panic rising in Bruce's chest, Tony shrugged. "Don't worry about it. Just...don't work too hard. You look tired, Brucie. Don't make me send Pepper in to get you," he threatened, but there was no power behind it.

Bruce felt himself huff out a laugh, but he had no part in the action. "I'll be finished soon," his voice promised, and his lips stretched to a grin. "Good job, by the way."

Tony nodded. "See you, bud!" And then he was gone and Bruce was alone in a body that wouldn't obey him.

“Back to work,” the voice in his head reminded him. A moment later he was back on his stool, his attention on the screen and his worries forgotten.

“You don’t need to sleep,” the voice called that evening. Bruce was exhausted; his back and eyes aching, his hands shaking and his mind foggy. Sleep felt like a gift he’d longed for, one that he’d earned. But he didn’t need it. The voice said he didn’t and he trusted it. More to the point, he couldn’t even imagine not doing what it said.

He didn’t need to eat, he didn’t need to sleep and he didn’t need to take a break. The voice which had once been so kind to him, the one which had made sure he didn’t work himself to death now seemed intent on him doing just that. He didn’t mind. Of course he didn’t, the voice was never wrong.

But it was becoming increasingly more obvious that his behaviour was worrying Tony. He sometimes caught the engineer watching him work, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed in concern. Neither of them said a word in those moments. Not normally. Today it was different.

“I want sushi, Bruce. You want sushi? Let’s get some,” Tony announced suddenly, startling Bruce out of his head. There was something different in his voice, a certain level of desperation that didn’t belong there. His eyes were wide and a little frantic, and he was already away from his desk and looming over Bruce’s own workstation like he was planning on dragging him away if he argued.

“Let him try,” the voice said darkly – Bruce flinched at the power behind it, then clenched his fists on the edge of the bench.

“Bruce?”

He lifted his eyes to meet Tony’s – a gesture which took more effort than it should have, he realised and started to feel inexplicably sick – and offered him a shaky smile. “Yeah?”

Tony frowned as he looked Bruce up and down. “Are you alright? You’re acting a little weird there, bud,” he said after a few moments.

“I’m fine,” Bruce said instinctively, even as the sickness in his stomach turned to worry. Was there something wrong with him? Deep down he knew that it wasn’t normal to have a voice with such a strong influence over everything he did, knew that it wasn’t normal the way it had replaced the other voice. He knew that it wasn’t healthy. And hadn’t Tony told him that if he felt like something was wrong then he had to say something? Hadn’t Tony admitted that he couldn’t face the idea of Bruce suffering the way he had on his own, told him that he didn’t need to hold things in anymore because that was when things got bad?

The other man hadn’t spoken, was continuing to scrutinize Bruce as if he was a particularly difficult puzzle which needed to be solved. “You know you can tell me if there’s something wrong, don’t you? I might not be able to help but I don’t want you ever feeling the way you did again. So, you sure you’re alright?” he asked softly.

Bruce wanted to tell him that no, he wasn’t alright, that he couldn’t stop working because his current project was the most important thing he’d ever done and while part of him wanted to stop, wanted to lock the idea in a vault and never touch it again, the voice in his head wouldn’t let him. It wouldn’t let him do anything, its influence too strong. He wanted to tell Tony that it had replaced his other voice and it was more powerful and irresistible than the first one had ever been. He wanted to tell Tony everything, wanted to be dragged from his work and sent to bed because he couldn’t do it himself.

“I’m fine,” he said again, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Tony scrutinized him one last time, then sighed heavily. “Alright, bud. Just…get some sleep. I know you ignored me last time I said it, and you don’t have to listen to me but I’m worried about you. This is what you’re doing to me, Brucie – you’re worrying me. You haven’t lectured me about not taking care of myself for a week now. You’re actually making me look like a self-care expert, and that’s just not right. So just…stop it.” He trailed off, massaging the back of his neck and looking downright uncomfortable with the way he shuffled his feet and his eyes twitched around the room.

Again, Bruce felt sick with guilt. He didn’t want to see Tony like this, so concerned that he was actually nervous. He opened his mouth to apologise but for the third time the voice intercepted his own. “I’m fine,” it said with his mouth. The words came with a smile he had no say in and a chuckle which burned his throat. “Really, I’m sorry for worrying you. I just…this project is a little time-sensitive and I’m behind schedule. Just trying to catch up, that’s all. Don’t worry, as soon as it’s over I’m sleeping for a week. I promise.”

Tony nodded, the discomfort mostly gone and replaced by a smile that was only a little less confident than normal. “I’ll hold you to it,” he threatened.

Bruce’s body let out a laugh. “I know you will,” his voice murmured, and his attention was forced back to the bench in front of him. His eyes, the only part of his body that would respond to him, searched once more for Tony, but the other man was gone.

“He won’t bother us again,” the voice in his head snarled. A wave of cold ran down his spine and he shuddered. A moment later his eyes were dragged back to the papers which scattered his workbench. He had no say in the matter. He had no say in anything. All he could do was watch as control slid from his grasp, until his mind too seemed to fade away.


	2. Chapter Two

Tony spent almost every waking moment with Bruce by his side. They worked together, ate together, sat together in one of the larger sitting rooms, him watching a movie while Bruce read and occasionally commented on something happening on the screen. They’d bonded in the few months since Bruce had first moved into the tower. Tony prided himself on this fact – on how simple it had been to befriend the elusive Dr Banner with a few comments and a dismissive attitude. It was impressive by all accounts – even Bruce looked occasionally surprised that Tony was near him, wasn’t calling him a monster or demanding that he be locked up.

Despite all of this, it took Tony almost a week to realise that there was something wrong with Bruce.

Of course, he’d had his suspicions before that. Bruce had become almost obsessed with a project he’d been working on and wouldn’t share any information on, despite the fact that they often shared projects over meals and in labs to get another viewpoint and brainstorm potential solutions to any problems they’d been having. Only, Bruce hadn’t been turning up for meals and he was abnormally silent while working, even for him. He was getting thin and pale, and there was a constant tremor in his hands that Tony could think of no reason for that didn’t seriously concern him. The project, whatever it was, was so important that Bruce seemed to be working himself to death.

And then there was the way he seemed to zone out every now and again. Actually no, not zone out – it was the exact opposite. He would suddenly jerk and gasp and his eyes would dart around the room as if he was sure they were under attack. But by the time Tony could open his mouth and ask what was going on, the sudden anxiety would be gone and Bruce’s eyes would return to their numbed stare. That was a look that Tony had been able to convince himself was the physicist’s natural expression until he rediscovered a photo of the entire team, taken just after the attack on New York. In it, Thor had one arm around Bruce in a way that appeared companionable but which Tony knew was more supportive than anything – Steve had the same hold on him, Natasha on Clint. Even then, after a long journey and exhausting transformation, his eyes had more life in them than they did now. They were intelligent, anxious, restless. His eyes now held none of that. They were just…dull.

Once Tony noticed that, he couldn’t unsee it. Every time he looked at Bruce, he was searching the other man’s eyes, looking for any sign of the life he’d seen in the photo or during any one of Bruce’s panic attacks – he didn’t know if that was what the panicked stares were because he’d never noticed any breathing changes, but they were often on either sides of a lab, too far away for him to hear – but he saw none of it. Which meant that there was something wrong, some reason he had to worry about one of his closest friends.

“You haven’t been uh…sinking again, have you?” he asked out of the blue one afternoon. He didn’t bother trying to hide his concern because he saw no point – who asked that kind of thing without worry?

Bruce didn’t look up from his workstation, which was scattered with papers and pens and pencils and test tubes dropped into stands. He frowned, picked up a pencil and scribbled something on one of the papers. It was as if Tony hadn’t spoken – something else that wasn’t right because Bruce would never ignore him.

“Bruce?”

“Yes?” said Bruce softly. His voice was a little hoarse, whether from disuse or dehydration Tony didn’t know but it concerned him nonetheless.

He crossed the room to the mini fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, then crossed back and passed it over. “I was asking if you’ve been sinking again.”

“Sinking…” Bruce finally looked up, but not at Tony. His eyes landed on the opposite wall then started to flicker from side to side – not the way they did during his panic attacks but as if he was scanning a page only he could see. This continued for several moments and left Tony concerned that he was witnessing some kind of seizure. But just as he was about to help Bruce to the ground and shove a pillow beneath his head, the other man’s eyes met his. Still dull, still empty. Even more so, if that was possible. But Bruce smiled, a strange sort of smile like he didn’t quite understand how the muscles in his face worked, and shook his head slowly. “I’m alright. I’m sorry, I’ve just been a little busy. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

And there was that self-depreciating tone that Tony both loved and hated. Hearing it even now made him shrug and smile, even when he would rather grab Bruce and shake him. “Don’t worry about it, I was just making sure that everything was alright. You’ve been a little odd, that’s all,” he reassured.

“Well no one has ever accused me of being normal,” Bruce said and smiled wryly – the smile stopped at his lips. His eyes flickered to the papers on his desk, lingering there for a second before returning to Tony. He had his teeth buried in his lower lip, which trembled as if fighting to escape the hold. Everything about the man screamed uncomfortable, screamed desperation for the conversation to end. And that just wasn’t Bruce. Not with Tony, at least.

Tony searched Bruce with a single look. Other than the general dishevelment, the drained look on his face and in his stature and the obvious discomfort, everything else was normal. Everything but those eyes. The eyes Tony couldn’t look away from. “Bruce,” he murmured sadly, “are you really alright?”

Bruce nodded. As he did, his eyes darkened and grew wide and afraid. They searched the room with all the urgency of a captive before landing on Tony. The fear there was so intense that Tony stepped forwards, arms outstretched to take Bruce in his arms and tell him that it was alright. Normally he and Bruce weren’t ones for hugging – sure they would do it when it felt right, but it was rare – but he couldn’t just leave Bruce looking so alone and terrified when he could do something about it.

Just before his arms locked around Bruce’s shoulders, the other man flinched and took a step back. When Tony looked up, he found that the fear was gone and Bruce just looked once more uncomfortable. “Really Tony,” he mumbled, “I’m alright.” It was a real Jekyll and Hyde moment.

Jekyll and Hyde.

That was when it clicked.

Tony spent several seconds looking desperately between Bruce and the papers on his desk and the door behind them both, his breaths coming a little quicker as his thoughts raced with all kinds of possibilities to support his suspicions. Each was more terrifying than the last and it wasn’t long before he was close to hyperventilating and it was Bruce’s turn to look concerned. Before the other man could say anything, though, Tony shook his head and tightened his fists until his nails bit into the soft flesh of his palms. He couldn’t afford to panic. Not when Bruce’s life could be at stake – hell, all of their lives could be at risk if any of his theories were correct.

After a few moments of focusing on the pain in his hands until his breathing slowed and the ache in his chest died down a little, he offered Bruce a tight smile. “Get some sleep, bud,” he sighed, and he left the labs with the hope that whatever was controlling Bruce would allow him this at least.

“So what, you think Banner’s possessed?” Clint asked incredulously from where he was sprawled on the sofa, arms and legs stretched out to cover the entire surface. He had a nervous smile that seemed more like a grimace, and it was clear that no matter how ridiculous Tony sounded, Clint was worried.

“Not possessed, I think he’s being controlled,” Tony corrected.

“Yeah, by a ghost. That’s what possession is, Stark.”

“No, not by a ghost! It’s a thing…in his head…and it’s controlling him!”

“Possession,” Clint sung.

Tony glared at him. “He’s _not_ possessed!”

Clint sat up a little and crossed his arms, then raised his eyebrows as he looked around at the rest of the team, who’d been silently watching the exchange with varying degrees of amusement. “Alright Stark, I’ll humour you – if he’s not possessed then what do you think is going on?” he asked slowly.

“Easy. Mind control,” Tony answered with a smirk.

“By a ghost,” Clint whispered to Natasha, who was holding back a smirk. She swatted him around the ear and he cried out, sending a wide-eyed, betrayed stare.

Steve cleared his throat. “Alright, so if Dr Banner is being…controlled, then we just have to get whatever is in his head _out_ of his head.”

“Without causing any long-term damage,” Tony added, because the first thing he thought of at Steve’s words was a doctor hacking away at Bruce’s skull with a bonesaw, and it made him feel distinctly ill. “You say that like it’s gonna be easy.” He sighed and ran a hand down his face.

“Um…Tony?”

Tony froze. Fuck. He turned so that he was facing Bruce and couldn’t quite wipe the guilt from his face. “Bruce. We were just…” He trailed off, unable to come up with a reason that wouldn’t upset Bruce – he didn’t like being talked about because it happened too often and made him nervous.

But Bruce just shrugged. “Never mind, I was wondering…” It was his turn to drift off mid-sentence. He was anxious, shifting from one foot to the other and wringing his hands over his stomach. His eyes were wide and afraid, and the sight of them made Tony’s heart sink. Another panic attack?

“Bruce?” he pressed.

The physicist swallowed thickly and glanced around the room. His eyes lingered on each team member for a few seconds, the fear not fading for a single second. “I…I was wondering if you all would help me out in the lab. I have to test something and I would be more comfortable if there were witnesses just in case something goes…wrong.” The last word was little more than a whisper, but Tony heard it well enough.

He looked Bruce up and down, taking in the obvious distress in his hunched shoulders, twisting fingers and twitching eyes. Although he hated to see his friend like this, every action was Bruce. He was more like himself when he seemed to be inching towards a breakdown than he had been in the last week, and despite everything Tony grinned. Bruce had taken back control from whatever it was, and Tony couldn’t be prouder. He really wished that Bruce had asked for help, hadn’t had to suffer through the control alone. But he couldn’t complain when he was this proud.

“You fixed it then?” he asked.

Bruce looked momentarily confused, but then he nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got it now.” He smiled, a shy twitch that was once again more Bruce-like than the smirks and grins.

“Good,” Tony said, and then he wrapped an arm around Bruce’s shoulders and spun them both around so that they were facing the others. “Well, you heard the man. To the labs!”

“What about the…problem?” Clint called up from the sofa, clearly a few steps behind Tony. He was watching Bruce with narrow eyes, his fists clenched like he was preparing to punch the physicist at the first sign of change.

Glancing around, Tony realised that all of the rest of the team were poised to attack. “Didn’t you hear him?” he asked irritably, “he said he’s fixing the problem and we’re going to make sure he doesn’t blow himself up in the process.”

No one moved, and Tony was really starting to get annoyed. Why couldn’t they see what he could? Why didn’t they trust that Bruce was strong enough to not only fight whatever was controlling him but also come up with a solution? Why didn’t they know Bruce like he did?

Bruce shifted beneath his arm and Tony glanced down at him, wincing internally at the poorly disguised hurt he saw in the physicist’s eyes. “It’s alright,” the other man whispered, “I know how I must look and I don’t blame anyone for not trusting me after that. I guess I just…I wanted you all to be there. Just in case something goes wrong and I…stop being me.”

Steve flinched, puppy eyes shining with what Tony was sure were tears. “Bruce…” he started, then sent a helpless look around the rest of the room. His eyes met Natasha’s, then Clint’s, and the three of them engaged in some kind of silent conversation. After a minute Steve nodded, his jaw tightly clenched. “We’ll be there. You can trust us,” he said softly.

Bruce didn’t say anything, but his smile said it all.

“Alright,” Tony announced, “then to the lab. Let’s get that thing out of you.”

Bruce nodded firmly, his smile widening a little. “I couldn’t agree more.”


	3. Chapter Three

Watching Bruce as he injected himself with his personal project was a tense experience no matter what had Tony said. They had no idea what would happen, no idea how violent the reaction would be, no idea if it would even do what they thought it would. Maybe it wouldn’t, or maybe the thing that was controlling Bruce would fight back.

Maybe it would kill him.

For a few seconds after the liquid was gone, Bruce was still and silent. His eyes were dull as they stared at Tony, his expression slack. It was as if his brain had simply ceased to function, as if it was empty in a way that it never was. As if the genius was now nothing but an empty shell.

“Bruce?” Steve whispered.

The voice seemed to spur Bruce back into action. He paled, then swayed on the spot. A moment later he fell.

“Bruce!” Tony was at his side in seconds, hands on Bruce’s shoulders as the two of them knelt there. The physicist was visibly trembling as he lifted a hand to his forehead, the other hanging loose. He looked dazed and confused, and Tony thought for the first time that maybe the Bruce who’d come to them before wasn’t actually _their_ Bruce – he may have looked more like himself then, but now he was acting as though he was fighting with his own body, fighting to take back control.

Steve grabbed his hand and pressed two fingers against his wrist. “It’s too fast,” he mumbled, his voice low enough that it was probably more to himself than the rest of them. His hand stayed clasped with Bruce’s, a gesture that made Tony huff out a laugh despite everything – Steve barely trusted Bruce, saw him more as a danger to the team than a member, and yet it was he who was clinging to said “danger” with all the security of a long-time friend.

“What’s happening, Doc?” asked Natasha softly, her arms crossed over her chest and her mouth set in a worried frown as she stood behind Steve.

Bruce moaned. The veins in his neck stuck out the way they did when the Other Guy forced his way to the surface, but his eyes were still their usual muddy brown, not a single fleck of green. Every breath seemed forced, deliberate. Tony felt sick with worry.

But finally Bruce lowered his hand from his head, frowned at the other before looking up to meet Steve’s eyes. He looked drained, his skin pale and eyes sunken into his skull. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “what were you saying?”

Tony nudged him with an elbow and waited for the eyes to turn to him. “How do you feel?” he asked.

“What?” He seemed not only confused but afraid, his free hand catching Tony’s sleeve and holding tightly.

“What do you remember?” That was Clint this time. His expression was indifferent but the white knuckle grip he had on the edge of the counter behind him said differently.

Bruce’s frown deepened. “I…”  
“Sir,” JARVIS interrupted. “I’m sorry to interrupt but I’m detecting intruders on the roof. They appear to be trying to break in.”

Tony groaned. “Of all the times…” he sighed, then added, “JARVIS, keep me updated on their progress while we get up there.”

“Yes sir.”

“Bruce.”

The physicist turned to Steve, who’d taken to holding the other man’s shoulder as well as his hand. “We don’t know exactly what’s happening yet, so we need to you stay here until we have more information,” Steve ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument – something Bruce was in no condition to do anyway. Bruce nodded anyway under the pretence of choice. He stumbled over to his desk and slumped into the stool, his head propped up in his hands.

“You know, there’s a sofa in the corner for this exact reason. We may as well stop dancing around the issue and call it a fainting couch already,” Tony commented, barely able to hide the concern once more building in his chest. He glanced over his shoulder at the sofa in question, one which he and Bruce had crashed on many times. They needed a more comfortable one, he thought idly; maybe it was alright for him, but Bruce always moved more slowly after a night on it. Or maybe they could _really_ stop dancing around the issue and buy a bed instead. Not a big one, but it needed a firm mattress and enough blankets that Bruce could cocoon the way he sometimes did when he was stressed or anxious. Hell, they could have enough blankets that they could both do it – Tony wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

Maybe Bruce would want to cocoon now? He opened his mouth to ask but realised that he wouldn’t be heard; Bruce had curled his feet up to rest on the bar of the stool and dropped his head the rest of the way to the bench, too exhausted to even think about cushioning it. “Alright bud,” Tony whispered, then picked up the blanket which hung over the back of the sofa. He carried it back to Bruce and draped it carefully over his shoulders, tucking it as close to the other man as possible all the while glaring at the rest of the team and daring them to say something – no one did.

“Sir, they’ve almost broken through. I would suggest you hurry,” JARVIS said a little too loudly, and Bruce stirred but didn’t wake up.

“We’re hurrying, J. Don’t take that tone with me,” Tony answered, and the scolding tone to his voice had Clint choking around a laugh. Tony smirked, but it faded when he looked back at Bruce. “Hey, J? Do me a favour and keep an eye on Bruce, will you?” he added more softly.

“Yes sir.”

Tony nodded in thanks, took one last look at Bruce and then followed the rest of the team to the elevators.

Bruce awoke with eyes burning into the back of his skull. He stirred and tried to sit up, and was unsurprised to find the familiar heavy weight in his limbs which kept him pinned in place. For a moment, he’d really thought that the voice was finally gone, that he’d taken back control from it and could pretend that it had never happened.

Of course he wouldn’t be so lucky.

“Stand,” the voice in his head said. His body obeyed without thought, but something was off. The movement wasn’t effortless the way it normally was; it was stiff and slow, and he was shaking with the effort. His legs almost buckled, but his body shot out a hand before it could fall – Bruce almost wished it hadn’t, there was something strangely satisfying about seeing the thing which had betrayed him, the thing which had replaced him with a cruel voice, struggle with control. He would have smirked if his body had let him.

His legs turned him around and he found two men in the doorway to the lab, guns trained on him. One of them lowered the gun as soon as Bruce was looking at him and raised a hand to his head in a salute. “Sir,” he said, then raised the gun again.

“Wait,” Bruce’s voice called, and his hand came up in a halting motion. “Let me leave him first, there’s no reason for me to stay in this stupid little body any longer.”

And then for a moment, Bruce’s head was filled with such excruciating pain that he lifted his hands to his face and didn’t even question that he’d suddenly regained control. Through the pain, he heard the voice in his head – “and now you die.” And then, for the first time in what felt like forever, he heard his own thoughts.

The relief was short-lived, however. As soon as the pain in his head was under control and he lowered his hands, he heard a gunshot and a few seconds later, he was on the ground with blood oozing from a wound in his side.

“Don’t worry, Dr Banner – there’s no monster to save you now,” one of the men snarled. “Finally you can die in peace.”

And as Bruce knelt there with a hole in his side and going a little lightheaded from blood loss, he realised with a start that there were _only_ his thoughts – no Other Guy. He wasn’t even fighting to get out even as Bruce clutched at the bleeding wound, wasn’t even trying to save his life. For the first time in a very long time, Bruce was afraid to die. And for the first time, the Other Guy was allowing it.


	4. Chapter Four

Tony had just watched Steve punch a man so hard that his ribs audibly cracked when JARVIS intervened. He’d kept an ear open the entire time, but he’d also watched every single one of the intruders closely to keep track and make sure that none of them could sneak past to get to Bruce. The physicist was supposed to be safe. He was safe, Tony thought.

And then JARVIS spoke. “Sir, Dr Banner has been shot.”

There was just something about the way JARVIS said it that made Tony feel sick to his stomach. Even though he knew that Bruce would be alright, that the Other Guy would fix things, JARVIS hadn’t mentioned a change. He’d only said shot, nothing else. There was still time, Tony’s mind tried to reassure him as a man swung a punch at his face but missed and hit the wall, breaking several bones in his hand in the process if the audible crack was any indication.

Wait.

JARVIS had said shot, but none of these men were armed with anything more than their fists and the occasional bat. Not a single gun in sight…

“Shit!” Tony cursed loudly. “It’s a distraction, they’re trying to get to Bruce!” He grabbed one of the attackers – the same one who’d broken his hand – by the collar and dragged him close. “Who sent you?” he snarled.

The man just laughed, his voice a little hysterical. “Too late,” he giggled.

The other men, Tony noticed, had stopped their attack and were just standing there as if awaiting orders. Except the one Steve had punched – he was kneeling on the ground touching a hand to his lip, pulling it away every few seconds to check for blood. His eyes were dull and confused, and he seemed to be actively avoiding looking anywhere but his hand. He didn’t look up, even when Tony threw the first man to the ground and headed for this one.

“It wasn’t me,” he mumbled when Tony stopped, looming over him with his hands clenched in fists. He finally looked up, squinting as though he’d just emerged from the darkness into the light. “It really wasn’t. They…they used me. My body, I mean. I was just…watching…” He trailed off, his voice low and his expression haunted. His eyes lost some of their focus.

“Hey!” Tony called to bring him back to the present. “Who’s they? And how are they controlling these people?”

The man shrugged. “Was just…there one morning. I woke up in my bed and I…it’s like my thoughts were gone. I just had this…this thing I needed to listen to and please, and by the time I realised what was happening…I couldn’t even move by myself. It’s probably the same with them,” he explained.

“You never saw them?” Steve asked – Tony had forgotten he wasn’t alone.

“I don’t…I don’t think so. There are blank spots. Maybe then. I’m sorry.”

“Sir,” JARVIS interrupted. “Dr Banner is in desperate need of assistance.”

Tony felt himself pale. He took a deep breath to calm himself, then turned to Steve. “See if he knows anything else and deal with the rest of them. I’m going to check on Bruce,” he instructed.

Normally Steve would have huffed and reminded Tony who was in charge – like one of them was _actually_ in charge – but today he just nodded. “Tony,” he said softly, “hurry.”

It was that which finally prompted him to run. He wished for the first time that the elevators were even faster than they were, wished that they were bigger so that he could pace more freely as he waited for it to get to the labs. It couldn’t have been longer than twenty seconds but it felt like much longer when the doors slid open. He rounded the corner to the labs and found Bruce on the ground, one hand clutching weakly at his stomach while the other hung loosely against his leg. He didn’t notice Tony, just kept staring at the space in front of him with glazed eyes while his entire body trembled violently.

Tony’s first instinct was to run to Bruce’s side and grab the wound himself, press down harder and tell the other man that it was alright, that he was going to be ok and that he was sorry that they’d left him alone. But there was the issue of Bruce’s toxic blood to deal with. They’d never had to deal with it before, not to this extent. The occasional papercut here and there which Bruce could easily deal with on his own. But not this much blood, this serious a wound and not when Bruce looked like he didn’t even know where he was.

“Bruce?” Tony called out, his voice coming out a lot stronger than he’d expected it to – in fact, it almost sounded like he _wasn’t_ terrified and furious at the same time.

Bruce didn’t immediately respond. He spent several seconds blinking sluggishly, then looked up at Tony with surprise in his eyes. “Tony…” he slurred.

“Yeah bud, it’s me. You’re not letting the Other Guy out?”

He shook his head once. “Not…’s not working. Can’t feel him. He…he’s not fighting…” Bruce trailed off, his head lolling forwards until it seemed like he was going to tip all the way onto his face. At the last minute he caught himself, curled over his knees with his forehead mere inches from the ground.

“Come on, big guy,” Tony said softly. He didn’t know whether he was talking to Bruce or Hulk. Whichever one of them would fix this and mean that he wasn’t alone in the labs with Bruce bleeding out in front of him.

But whoever he was talking to, neither of them helped. Bruce just lifted sleepy eyes to him, blinked once then slumped the rest of the way forwards, his hand falling from the wound.

Tony cursed loudly and rushed to Bruce’s side, almost forgetting to avoid touching the blood with his bare hands. He pulled off his t-shirt and bundled it up against the wound, trying to ignore the way his hands trembled in the process. “J,” he called, “get the others down here now. Tell them Bruce is hurt and Hulk isn’t helping. Tell them…tell them I need them.” His voice cracked at the end as he stared down at Bruce’s still form. “Come on, bud,” he added in a whisper, “don’t do this. Don’t leave us.”

It took almost an hour just to make sure that Bruce wasn’t going to die the moment they stepped away from him. The wound, still not closing, was packed with layers of gauze and then wrapped up – none of them were confident with stitches, nor did they know quite what would happen if Bruce started to heal with them in. He had an IV in one arm – Tony’s doing, a job which had left him feeling sick because who wanted to be the one to put a needle in their best friend’s hand? – and looked so frail and sickly. When had he lost all of the weight he’d been able to put on since moving in with Tony? Without the oversized clothes to hide it, he really did look unhealthy, and Tony once again cursed himself for not noticing something sooner.

Even with their treatment, Bruce was far from out of the woods. He was too pale – a consequence of the blood loss – but they couldn’t give him the  transfusion he needed, not yet. There was something not sitting right with Tony, and he wanted to make sure that they weren’t going to kill Bruce when they were trying to treat him.

That was when he found it – the sedative in Bruce’s blood.

The general make up was a lot like a regular sedative, but not quite. He realised with a sickening jolt that it wasn’t even meant for humans. A specialised Hulk sedative, that was what it was. That was why he wasn’t healing – because the Other Guy wasn’t even awake to fight. He’d left that job to Bruce.

But really, it was a relief that there was _something_ to blame, some kind of abnormality, and a temporary one at that. One which meant that given enough time, Bruce would be able to fix himself. They just had to keep him alive until then.

And so, sitting at Bruce’s bedside with a tablet on his knee, Tony was just trying to figure out the last mystery. None of the intruders could tell them anything about who’d been controlling them – hell, most of them wouldn’t even accept what had happened in the first place, whether due to pride or ignorance or something else. Whatever it was, Tony was left with no ideas. He blamed it on Bruce, whose stubborn unconsciousness had gone from “ok it’s normal, he needs to get better” to “oh my god why won’t he wake up please don’t tell me we’ve killed him” and was enough of a distraction that Tony could think of little else but the slow, steady pulse beneath his fingers.

So he noticed immediately when Bruce started to wake. At first he thought it was just a twitch, but then he watched as the physicist rolled his head to the side and struggled to open his eyes. His fingers twitched, free hand shifting as if to reach for his wound but stopping before it had moved more than an inch. From the lines on his face and the way his body had grown tense the moment he began to wake, Tony guessed that the pain was really starting to hit him.

“It’s alright,” Tony reassured, his voice little more than a whisper. He watched as Bruce finally pried his eyelids apart and searched the room with glazed eyes before settling on Tony. When the physicist opened his mouth to speak, the only noise which escaped was a choked off moan which had Tony wincing in sympathy. Bruce probably hadn’t experienced waking up after an injury in a long time, which made this all the worse – but was this better or worse than waking up after hulking out, Tony wondered.

Bruce groaned and lifted his free hand to scrub at his eyes, but paused midway to his face in favour of just staring at his hand as if he’d never seen it before in his life. “I can move,” he whispered, then turned his attention back to Tony. “There was a voice in my head. Another one that is. I…I didn’t even notice what was happening until it was too late.” He trailed off and looked down at his lap in disgust.

Tony opened his mouth to offer out reassurances, to tell Bruce that he wasn’t stupid for not seeing what was happening, that whoever had been in his head the whole time had been careful, it seemed. But Bruce wasn’t the kind of person who would believe that. “You fought,” he said instead. “Sometimes you would get through for a few seconds. That was what made me realise what was happening, you know. You fought and you showed me that something was wrong.”

Bruce didn’t seem convinced.

Tony held back a sigh. “Can you hear it now?”

“No. It’s gone, I think. It’s back to the normal one.” Bruce almost sounded disappointed.

“The normal one?”

“The…it’s not important.”

Tony didn’t want to push, so he nodded. “What about the Other Guy?” he asked.

“He’s starting to wake up, I think. I should get to the cage,” Bruce said and tried to push himself upright, only for his arm to buckle beneath him. He cried out as he fell, hand shooting to his side.

Tony caught sight of blood on the bandages and winced. “I’ll take you to the _playroom_ now. Think you can get in the wheelchair himself?” he asked, more to make Bruce feel useful than anything else. There was no way he was letting the man up himself, but if Bruce knew that then he would get anxious and stubborn, and he was already bleeding enough at it was.

But surprisingly, Bruce didn’t even try to argue. He bowed his head and shook it once, looking ashamed of himself for needing help. Once more Tony didn’t comment because there was no point, not to mention he would probably sound like a hypocrite if he talked to Bruce about not being ashamed to ask for help. Instead he just wrapped one arm around Bruce’s shoulder and helped him into a seated position, then pulled his legs around with the other arm. Tucking Bruce close, he pulled the man upright and shuffled him slowly to the wheelchair near the bed. He eased Bruce down, wordlessly passed him the blanket from the bed and took the handles of the chair. “Ready, big man? Let’s get you back to normal.”

Despite the obvious pain and exhaustion, Bruce smiled. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah,” he said without strength or joy, “ready as I’ll ever be.”

“It’s not that far to the cage, why are you making him push you?” the voice in Bruce’s head snarled. “Even now you need his help. You couldn’t help yourself then and you can’t do it now. You’re pathetic, you know that?”

Bruce sighed. From a voice which stole his body and made him a bystander in his own mind to one which allowed him control but mocked him for whatever he did. He didn’t know which was worse.

He looked down at his hands in his lap. Focused on the left one and curled his fingers to a fist, the loosened them again. He did the same with his right hand, then touched his index finger to his thumb and just watched the movement. This was his choice. He’d told his body to do that, not the voice, and he knew that he should be happy to have it back. But of course it had to come with the other voice – he couldn’t have a break, of course not. There always had to be something which haunted him, that was just the way his life worked.

So as he sat there watching his fingers move when he told them to, he told himself to smile. Told himself to look like he was grateful to have his body back, even as his mind called him weak and useless and pathetic. Told himself to stop whining.

Told himself to stop wishing for the other being to come back and take over. Sometimes it was easier being controlled, if just for a moment of peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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